


Dear Life

by chamel



Series: Hanging On For Dear Life: Songs of Cara Dune & Din Djarin [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Awkward Conversations, Dating, Denial of Feelings, Drinking to Cope, F/M, Feelings, Friendship, Hangover, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Little Black Dress, Masturbation in Shower, Mild Sexual Content, One Night Stands, Or Two Night I Guess, Pining, bad at feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:33:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24645715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamel/pseuds/chamel
Summary: She carefully pulled up the sheet covering her. Yup, she was naked. Not really a surprise, given everything else. She tried in vain to remember how she’d gotten here. The fact that she could not was more than a little disconcerting. Carefully, trying not to shake the bed, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her head swam and a bolt of pain went lancing behind her eyes. Another piece of the puzzle, and one that explained the lack of memory: apparently, she’d gotten drunk and spent the night in a stranger’s bed.(It's been months since the Mandalorian left Nevarro and Cara is ready to move on, but things get complicated when he finally returns.)
Relationships: Cara Dune & Greef Karga, Cara Dune/Original Character(s), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Hanging On For Dear Life: Songs of Cara Dune & Din Djarin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1781008
Comments: 33
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! I've been working on a new project featuring our favorite couple! After I wrote _The Richest Man_ , I found myself inspired by a bunch more songs on the same album, _Dear Life_ by Brendan Benson. I've also been listening to it constantly, so I decided to challenge myself: write a story inspired by every song on the album. Some will be longer, some will be short, some will be fluffy, some will be really angsty. I'm not planning to have them connect in any way; most of them will trod similar ground in different ways.
> 
> This isn't even the second work I started writing in the series, but this one kept growing and I decided to go ahead and put out the first chapter. It's a little different, and very Cara-centric, but I promise there is more CaraDin action in chapter two.
> 
> Finally, when I was writing the original character in this work I was thinking of Tom Hiddleston in The Night Manager (so good if you haven't seen it). If you need a screenshot of him and his expressive eyebrows, [feast your eyes here.](https://www.vulture.com/2016/05/night-manager-recap-season-1-episode-4.html)

_Spinning head in a stranger's bed_  
_Has never really been her style_  
_She can't go home and she can't be alone_  
_There's no place in this world_  
_And now she's hanging on_  
_For dear life, dear life has got her hanging on_

She woke up just before dawn; she could tell by the tone of the sky through the window next to the bed. It wasn’t her window, though. The hopefully temporary amnesia _could_ be a byproduct of just waking up, but no more memories materialized as she lay there. So, she guessed she’d figure it out the hard way.

Someone lay next to her in the bed, their breathing shallow and even. She turned her head slowly toward the sound. Her companion lay on his stomach in the bed, face mashed sideways into a pillow facing away from her. He had short, tousled, sandy blonde hair and broad, muscular shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist. The sheet just covered his firm, round ass. This was probably his bed, then.

She carefully pulled up the sheet covering her. Yup, she was naked. Not really a surprise, given everything else. She tried in vain to remember how she’d gotten here. The fact that she could not was more than a little disconcerting. Carefully, trying not to shake the bed, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her head swam and a bolt of pain went lancing behind her eyes. Another piece of the puzzle, and one that explained the lack of memory: apparently, she’d gotten drunk and spent the night in a stranger’s bed.

This was definitely not like her. One night stands, sure, she’d had plenty of them over the years. Not so many since she’d moved to Nevarro, but she was still getting settled. Getting so drunk she didn’t remember them, that was entirely new. If there had been some trigger that had set her to drinking that much, she couldn’t recall. Greef might know, but then that would require admitting to him that she didn’t remember herself.

Beside her, the man stirred. She watched with curiosity as he rolled over and yawned, rubbing his eyes sleepily. After a moment he opened them and smiled up at her, the look of pleasant surprise on his face suggesting that he didn’t necessarily expect her to be there.

“Hey,” he said softly as he pushed himself up on an elbow.

“Hey,” she answered, smiling back as if she had any idea who he was.

“Did you sleep ok?”

She nodded, and it was the truth. In fact his bed was a lot more comfortable than her own, the pillows soft and the sheets smooth. Stretching, he leaned over to the side of the bed and clicked on a small bedside lamp, which cast a soft glow in the dim early morning light. Even that small amount of illumination was apparently too much, though, and she winced involuntarily, rubbing a hand over her eyes.

“Oh, sorry,” he said quickly, “I didn’t realize… Can I get you a painkiller? Water?”  
  
She smiled wryly and squinted at him through one eye. “That would be awesome, thanks.”

Turning away from her, he pushed out of bed and she caught an eyeful of well-formed ass before he slipped into a light robe. Well, at least she apparently still had good taste when she was drunk. When he padded out of the room she cast around for her shirt and found it in a corner. She pulled it on and ran a hand through her hair, but before she could locate the rest of her clothing he’d returned with a glass of water and a couple of pills cupped in his hand. He handed them off to her and she took them eagerly; her eyes had adjusted to the light, but her head was still killing her.

She gulped down the pills and all of the water as he sat back down on the bed opposite her. He looked mildly concerned about her welfare and she frowned internally; he seemed like a nice guy and deserved better than what she was about to admit.

“I’m gonna level with you,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t remember a lot about last night. Starting with… your name.” She smiled sheepishly, hoping he’d take it ok.

To her relief, he chuckled softly. “I wish I could say I was surprised. You were pretty out of it. It’s Karl, with a K.”

“Karl,” she repeated, nodding slowly. “I’m—”

“Cara. I know,” he finished before she could.

She flushed, feeling not a little embarassed. “And… how did I get here?”

“Well, you hit on me rather aggressively in the cantina. One thing led to another, and you suggested we go to my place. You know, you’re pretty good at acting less drunk than you are.”  
  
She screwed up her face. “One of my talents, I’m afraid. I’m really sorry about this.”

“Don’t worry about it. I was pretty drunk too, to let it get this far, and let me tell you, you are a difficult woman to stop when she has her mind set to something.”

“You mean we didn’t…?”  
  
He looked down and she saw a blush creep up his neck and onto his cheeks. “No.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Then why are we both naked?”

“Like I said, you’re a difficult woman to say no to, but I managed to get you to go to sleep when I realized how gone you were. I think some of your clothes are in the other room, by the way.”

Cara dropped her head into her hands and groaned. “Wow, that’s… I’m, sorry, man. I don’t usually do things like this.”

“It happens,” he answered with a kind smile on his face.

“Please tell me I didn’t do anything else weird or humiliating?”

“Well… at one point you found this cannister and asked me to put it on my head while we… you know,” he bent over and grabbed a shiny silver can, just helmet-sized, off the floor. “Didn’t say why. I don’t mean to sound full of myself, but usually women think I’m pretty attractive…?”

She cringed, horrified at what he’d just said. In truth he was drop dead gorgeous. Defined cheekbones, a square-but-not-too-square jaw, a fine nose, and steely blue-grey eyes that you could easily lose yourself in. His eyebrows tended to quirk up at their inner edges, giving him a look like an approval-seeking puppy, especially when combined with that radiant, dimpled smile. How she had managed to fuck up this spectacularly, she didn’t know.

“No no, you’re… unbelievably good looking, to be honest. I just…”

She trailed off, unable to come up with an explanation that didn’t sound absurd. Apparently pining after a guy she barely knew and had only seen in a helmet? It had been months and whatever little infatuation she’d caught while working with him had run its course. She barely even thought of him any more. It would seem that her subconcious had other ideas, though.

“Is it some kind of fetish?” he asked, cocking his head at her.

“No!” she answered, more sharply than she intended. She dropped her head into her hand again. “Sorry, no, I don’t know why.”

He nodded and set the cannister on the ground again, then stood. “I’m gonna go make some caf. You want some? I can whip up some breakfast?”  
  
“I’d love a cup of caf, but I can’t impose on you for breakfast.” In truth, her stomach was roiling at the idea of food right now. “You’ve already been more than kind to me.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll grab your clothes.”

He left the bedroom again and returned moments later holding her pants and bra. How had she managed to leave her bra in the other room but her shirt in this one? She’d probably never know. She heard him clattering in the kitchen as she pulled on her clothes and inspected herself in a small mirror set on the dresser. Her eyes were bleary and bloodshot, and her braid was a mess.

She worked on rebraiding it as she walked out toward the kitchen. By the time she got there, a steaming cup of caf waited for her on the counter. She took it gratefully, and after a few sips she began to feel almost human again. Glancing around the house, she saw her blaster belt and boots by the door.

“So what do you do, anyway?” Karl asked, glancing at her as he bustled about the kitchen, making himself breakfast.

“Uh, I’m Greef Karga’s enforcer.”

He seemed impressed. “Guess that explains the blaster. And the bruises.”

Cara huffed out a laugh. “Look, I’m really sorry about all of this,” she apologized again. “You seem like a really nice guy.”

“If you want to make it up to me, you could let me take you to dinner tonight. Sober, this time,” he added with a mischevious twinkle in his eye.

“Really? I mean, after what I pulled, I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again.”

He shrugged. “I’d like to get to know you better. How about La Tevica?”

“Isn’t that the fancy place? You don’t have to take me there.”

“Well, think of it as me inviting you to accompany me to a restaurant I’ve always wanted to try.” He shot her one of his wide, sparkling smiles. “Please?”

“Ok,” she agreed. She drained her cup and slid it across the counter to him. “Dinner, yeah. I’ll meet you at the cantina. Thanks for the caf.”

She left before she could change her mind. Going on _dates_ was definitely something that she did not do. Honestly she couldn’t remember the last time she had. Maybe when she was a teenager? So why in creation had she agreed to it? He seemed nice, sure, but she wasn’t looking for a relationship. She almost turned around halfway to the cantina to call it off, but shook her head. How bad could one date be?

“You look like hell,” Greef said by way of greeting when she entered the cantina.

“I feel like it,” she grumbled.

The caf had helped, certainly, but she knew what would really take the edge off her headache. She pushed behind the bar, pulled a bottle of whiskey off the wall, and deposited a shot glass on the bar in front of her. Before she could pour, though, Karga had grabbed her arm.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“C’mon, one shot,” she huffed.

He shook his head. “I need you sharp today.”

Cara narrowed her eyes suspiciously and slowly set the bottle on the bar. “Why?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked.

Crap. This was definitely something he’d told her last night. “Course I remember,” she bluffed. “You got, uh, someone big coming in today.”

Turning, she put the whiskey back on the shelf and poured herself a large glass of water instead. He probably had a point.

“That’s a funny way to put it,” Greef replied with a snort. “Big trouble, usually. Seems to follow him around, especially now that he’s got that kid. Which is why I need you on your toes.”

Cara choked on her water, sending her into a violent coughing fit. “Mando’s coming?” she managed eventually.

“You really don’t remember,” he said, shaking his head at her. “Did you go home with that guy you were hanging on last night?”  
  
She pressed her lips together, frowning. “That’s none of your business.”

“I thought so,” he replied as if he could read her mind. “His father’s a friend. He’s a nice kid. I hope you didn’t do anything stupid.”

All at once the cannister swam into her thoughts and she felt her face get hot. “We have a date tonight, for your information.”

Greef raised his eyebrows at her. Why was she telling him this? Ok, so he was the closest thing that she had to a friend on this planet, but still. This was not something they talked about.

“You’re not going to wear that, I hope?”

“What?” She looked down at her clothes, the same green pants and black shirt she always wore. She hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest. “What else would I wear?”  
  
He rolled his eyes. “People don’t wear tactical gear on dates, Dune. Go home, get yourself cleaned up, and go buy yourself something nice to wear.”

She was going to object, but the look on his face brooked no argument. He shooed her out the door and she stumbled down the road toward the small house where she slept, most nights at least. It wasn’t much, and she hadn’t done much to make it hers. To do so would be to admit to settling down here, and she wasn’t ready to admit that. This wasn’t _home_ ; nowhere could be home. Her home had been destroyed, and she could never go back. The house was silent and empty, and she didn’t like spending much time here. It was better if she wasn’t alone, anyway. She practically lived at the cantina, where it wasn’t overwhelmingly silent all the time.

As she pushed into the front door she stripped off her clothes and left them on the floor, headed to the shower. Even though she couldn’t remember the previous night, she could tell that that itch had definitely not been scratched. The water poured down around her and she slid one hand down between her legs while she cupped a breast in the other, rolling her nipple between her fingers.

She thought of Karl: his deep blue eyes, his finely chiseled good looks, his perfect ass. Tonight she’d see the rest of him, and this time she’d remember. In her mind he stood before her, pulling her naked body against his. She reached further, pushing a couple of fingers inside of her as she rubbed her sensitive nub with her thumb. She could feel the tension building inside of her, coiling deep in her abdomen.

Abruptly it was as if she closed her eyes in her fantasy, and when she opened them again Karl was no longer in front of her. Instead a Mandalorian stared back at her in shiny beskar armor, a mudhorn signet on his pauldron. He was fully clothed, and she couldn’t see his face, but somehow everything about him oozed _sex_. He reached out to cup her breast in his gloved hand.

“Cara,” he murmured, close enough that she could hear his voice beyond the modulator.

She gasped and her eyes shot open. She was in the shower, her own hand on her breast, the water going cold as her cheap water heater gave up the ghost. She put a hand out against the wall to steady herself, her chest heaving. Kriffing hell, what _was_ that? What tricks was her mind trying to play on her?

She had not hit her climax, but she thought it was just as well; she didn’t trust herself to close her eyes again. The cold water pummeled her, but it was unable to wash the image out of her mind. Not just any Mandalorian.

_Din._

She shivered, not entirely because of the icy water.

* * *

The sales lady at the shop really wanted to get Cara into a dress. She brought out one after another, trying her darnedest to convince the skeptical soldier. The tall, older lady held up a pile of something she called chiffon, pale blue and ethereal.

“Honey, you wear this one, he’ll be on one knee before the end of the appetizers.”

Cara made a face. “Too much. I’m not looking for a proposal.”

The saleswoman pursed her lips and shuffled hangers to pull out a slinky gold thing that hardly looked like enough fabric to cover anyone’s assets, much less hers.

“Not _enough_ ,” Cara grimaced. “I’m not desperate.”

Ok, she kind of was, but then again she was pretty sure she didn’t need to wear that to get laid tonight. The woman abandoned the pile of dresses and disappeared into the back room. When she emerged again she held a simple, fitted black dress.

“Classics never go out of style.”

“Don’t you have some nice pants?” Cara asked.

The older woman gave her a surprised look. “You can’t wear pants at La Tevica. Not allowed.”  
  
“What!? What kind of patriarchal banthashit…”

“The kind that has divine food,” the saleswoman interrupted. “It won’t kill you to wear a dress for one night.”

Cara could not remember the last time she had worn a dress. It had probably been some frilly pink confection that her mother had put her in before Cara had enough sense to refuse. This was all starting to sound like it wasn’t worth it. But then she remembered how she’d behaved and swallowed hard. Just one night.

“C’mon, try it on,” the woman said, pushing the dress toward her.

Reluctantly, Cara took the black dress and carried into a back room. She tugged off her shirt and pants and attempted to pull the dress over her head. It was a tight fit, and for a minute she thought she’d need a larger size, but she got it on. The neckline plunged down low, obviously showing her bra. Cara frowned.  
  
“Do I need a special bra with this one?”  
  
“No bra!” the saleswoman called back.

Cara blanched. When was the last time she hadn’t worn a bra out in public? After a brief struggle she removed the undergarment and got the dress properly situated. It was surprisingly supportive, though most of her sternum was exposed. She blushed awkwardly as she emerged from the dressing room.

“Oh, stunning!” the saleswoman gushed. “Your figure is to _die_ for!”

Cara tried to avoid rolling her eyes. She probably said that to everyone. Anything to make a sale, right? She turned around and started in surprise when she saw herself in the mirror. The dress hugged every curve, skimming over her body like a second skin. It was sleeveless, with that plunging neckline that bared a bit more than she had expected.

“Are you sure I don’t have it on backwards?” she asked uncertainly. The shallow scoop in the back seemed much more reasonable.

“Don’t be silly! It looks like it was made custom for you. Whatever you want out of tonight, this will certainly deliver. Tell me you’ll take it?”

Cara’s lips twisted. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Splendid! You have shoes to wear that aren’t those?”

The saleswoman looked pointedly at the black combat boots that Cara still wore. They made quite the odd combination with the slinky black dress.

“I think I have some sandals,” Cara replied with a frown.

* * *

  
  
It was later than she wanted by the time she made it back to the cantina. When she’d gotten back to her house she’d discovered her sandals were brown, and even she couldn’t countenance wearing brown sandals with a black dress. So she’d gone back to get some sensible black sandals to wear, eschewing the heels that the saleswoman pushed. She’d spent enough credits on this night, it had better be kriffing worth it.

She pushed into the dim space and scanned the room. No Mando. _Not_ that she was looking for him. As casually as she could manage, she sauntered over to Greef’s table and leaned on it.

“Our friend arrive yet?”  
  
“Delayed,” Greef grumbled. “Something about a last minute repair. I swear, that rust bucket of his…”

Cara slid into the booth opposite him and watched him sort bounty pucks. Everything was quiet right now. Normally that would mean she was bored, but today a bit of quiet would be a good thing. Wouldn’t want to show up for her date with a black eye.

“Did you get something to wear?” he asked, glancing up at her.

She made a face of disgust. “Yes, I got a dress.”

“Well I’ll be damned. Cara Dune in a dress.”

Suddenly she put her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands. “Oh no.”

“What is it?”  
  
“I told him to meet me _here_. I can’t have all these low-lifes seeing me in a dress,” she wailed. “What’s it going to do to my reputation?”

Greef reached out and patted her arm. “I’ll tell them that anyone who makes a comment, you have my permission to kill them.” She looked up at him through her fingers. “Tomorrow,” he added, putting a finger in the air.

“Thanks Karga,” she replied, laughing despite herself.

She hung around the cantina the rest of the afternoon, helping Greef organize the active bounties and waiting for Mando to arrive. _No_ , she wasn’t waiting for him, she had other things she had to do there, like not drink the whiskey that was calling to her from behind the bar. In the end, he still hadn’t shown up by the time she had to leave to get ready for her date. She fought back a surge of disappointment.

As she poured herself into the black dress she began to have major second thoughts about the whole night. This was a mistake. Karl was going to realize that she was not the kind of girl you take on dates, and certainly not one you bring home more than once. She wondered how long it would be before she made an utter fool of herself. _Maybe_ she’d make it to the main courses?

She stood in front of the mirror and hardly recognized herself. She could never look like a delicate flower, like someone who belonged in a dress. The powerful muscles in her arms and legs somehow drew attention away from her significant cleavage, but she was still all boobs and legs. Despite her earlier assertion, she thought she looked pretty desperate, like a shock trooper playing dress up far out of her league.

 _I might have to murder a significant number of people tomorrow_ , she thought sourly.

Cara knew the saleswoman would say the look was missing something. She turned around in the mirror once, then went and grabbed a thigh holster and a thin dagger. After she’d strapped it on she smoothed the dress down again: nearly invisible. She felt more herself already. Then, sighing, she fished out the tube of lipstick that the saleswoman had gifted her and carefully applied the deep red pigment.

She lived close to the cantina, but judging by the number of looks, hoots, and whistles she got in the short walk there, it was going to be a long night. Anyone who got too close was sent scurrying for cover with one murderous glare from her, and the one guy who didn’t was going to be nursing his broken hand for a while.

Greef must have been true to his word, because despite the low murmur when she entered, no one said a thing to her. Instead, it was eerily quiet; everyone in the cantina had stopped what they were doing to stare at her. At least a couple of jaws had literally dropped. She scowled at everyone and made a beeline to the bar. Screw this, she needed at least one drink if she was going to make it through the night.

She was halfway there when a figure that she had missed in her quick scan of the room stood up from his table and into her path. Her heart stopped.

“Mando,” she said, the word coming out something like a strangled squawk. She cursed internally and swallowed hard. “Greef said you were coming.”

“Cara,” he replied, her name low and even through his modulator. “You look… different.”

She barked out a laugh at that and pushed past him toward the bar.

“Make it a double,” she told the bartender.

The Mandalorian followed her and she turned partly toward him, leaning casually on the bar. A small strangled sound escaped his helmet when she did this, his line of site umistakably focused _below_ her face. She glanced to see that her position was emphasizing her breasts even more than her neckline already was and quickly stood upright, passing a smoothing hand over the dress. The bartender delivered her drink and she shot it back in one go, her lipstick leaving a print on the glass.

“What brings you back to this shithole?” she asked, looking anywhere in the room but at him.

“Low on credits,” he replied, not entirely convincingly. He seemed… distracted.

Cara rolled her eyes. She wasn’t going to be able to have _any_ conversations until she was out of this getup. She looked around the room for Karl, but didn’t see him. Figures he’d be fashionably late.

“Hey baby,” a strange voice said behind her. “Can I get you a drink? Or something stronger?”

She whirled to see that a weasely, greasy guy—who, incidentally, didn’t look like he could lift a sack of flour—had sidled up to the bar next to her. His eyes trailed lecherously down her body and made her feel like she needed a shower.

“Get lost,” she warned, turning away from him.

“Hey now, give us a smile…”

“You heard what she said,” Mando growled, and the weasely guy looked at him in surprise as if he hadn’t seen the Mandalorian standing there.

“Maybe she was talkin’ to you,” the weasel sneered. “Maybe she don’t like the idea of fuckin’ a tin can.”

Almost instantaneously Cara’s fist shot out, catching the guy in the jaw with a crack. He fell to a heap on the ground next to them and she shook her hand out. The conversations, which had picked back up in the cantina, fell silent again.

“Get him out of here,” Greef barked, sending two guys to collect the unconcious body. He turned to the rest of the patrons. “You were all warned.”

Cara tried, and failed, to suppress a smirk. At least that might help keep any more hopeful ‘suitors’ at bay.

“I suppose you have a good reason for this…?” the Mandalorian said, gesturing to her outfit.

She cocked her head at him and smirked. “I have a date, Mando.”

“A… date,” he repeated, stumbling over the word like he didn’t understand it.

“Yeah, you know, going out with someone? A prelude to romance? Do Mandalorians do that kinda thing?”

“Yes,” he answered, his voice sounding strained. “I didn’t think you were the type…”  
  
“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” she interrupted, her tone full of mock outrage.

He tensed up immediately. “I didn’t— I’m sorry— I—” he stammered. She imagined he was quite flustered under that helmet.

“Relax, Mando, I’m messing with you,” she grinned, shoving him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m not. The type that goes on dates, that is. I’m making up to someone, for last night.”

The Mandalorian tipped his head at her slightly in question and she swallowed, wishing she had another drink. She hadn’t meant to say that much, and she certainly wasn’t going to tell _him_ what she’d done. She was still trying to figure out what to say when she caught sight of Karl stepping through the door.

“My word, but you do look ravishing,” he said, smiling broadly, as he approached them.

He stepped up to Cara and leaned down to kiss her lightly on the cheek, sliding a hand possessively behind her lower back as he did so. Then he straightened and turned toward Mando. The corners of his mouth turned down ever so slightly, eyebrows knitting together, before he fixed a smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Sorry I’m late. Who’s your friend?”

“Karl, this is Mando,” she said awkwardly. “We, uh, fought together.”

“Oh, I didn’t know there were many Mandalorians in the rebellion.”

“Not in the rebellion,” Mando answered gruffly.

He didn’t elaborate. There was a long, drawn out silence as Karl and Mando stared at each other intensely, like each was waiting for the other to crack, until Cara couldn’t take it anymore.

“We should get going, yeah?” she broke in, placing a hand on Karl’s chest as she looked up at him. “Don’t want to miss our reservation.”

“Absolutely,” he replied through clenched teeth, still staring at the Mandalorian.

Unexpectedly, he turned toward her and slid his hand behind her head, pulling her into a deep kiss. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mando turn away, his head bent toward the ground and shoulders hunched upwards. Then Karl released her and ushered her toward the door, his hand applying a gentle pressure to her lower back. She glanced back at the Mandalorian, wanting to say something but not knowing what. Would he even be here tomorrow morning? She had to stop herself from turning around.

“So how did you two meet?” Karl asked eventually, when they were most of the way to the restaurant.

“He showed up on a remote planet that I was hiding out on. I thought he was there to collect on my bounty—long story—so we fought. But he wasn’t. We became friends.”

“Ah. Just friends?”

Cara glanced at him with a small smirk. “Yeah. Just friends.”

Karl smiled at her, and this time it was a real one. “Good.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dinner was unbelievably delicious. Cara didn’t know how you could _do_ that to food, to make it taste that good, but the chef must have been some kind of wizard. After the initial awkwardness in the cantina, they settled into easy conversation. Karl proved to be quite charming, with a dry, self-deprecating humor, and after several glasses of wine she found herself giggling in a most uncharacteristic way.

They walked back to his house without discussing it, his hand taking that possessive place behind her lower back again. This time she was tipsy but not drunk, and she was ready to finally get that itch scratched. And who knew, maybe she’d see Karl again after tonight. Being with him didn’t necessarily make her heart race, but surely that was overrated. When she was around him she felt blissfully _normal_. After everything she’d been through, that didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

She barely let him get the door open before she began pulling his shirt out of his pants, sliding her hands along his smooth skin. He laughed, fumbling with his keys, but when he finally managed to get them through the door he wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her into a deep kiss. The buttons of his shirt yielded quickly to her hands, and she pushed it off his shoulders so she could feel her way across his muscled chest.

They moved quickly toward the bedroom, stumbling as they pushed and pulled each other eagerly across the house. She shoved him down hard into sitting position on the bed and straddled his lap, her legs bending under her. His hands were hot as he pushed his hands up along her thighs, sliding the bottom of her dress slid upward to reveal the knife underneath.

“Uh, wow,” he mumbled. “That was there the whole time?”

She laughed, nodding. “Uh huh. I always come prepared.”  
  
“Prepared for what?”  
  
“Anything."

Before he could reply she kissed him again, snaking her fingers through his hair and pushing her body against his. He groaned against her mouth as she ground down onto the tightening region of his pants, and his hands slid along her sides and up to her shoulders. He pushed the straps of the dress down, spreading the neckline wide and exposing her breasts. He cupped one, twisting the nipple gently between his fingers. She moaned and broke away from the kiss, turning her attention to his throat. She sucked along the tight muscle from his ear to his collarbone, her teeth raking lightly over his skin.

“Cara,” he murmured.

The Mandalorian flashed in her mind then, cupping her breast and breathing her name, as he had appeared in the shower. She inhaled sharply and pulled back, her eyes wide. The man in front of her looked at her searchingly, the inner edges of his eyebrows tipped upward in concern and confusion.

“What’s wrong?”  
  
“N–nothing,” she stammered, sounding unconvincing even to herself. “I remembered I had an early morning meeting, is all.”

Karl cocked an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure? If you don’t want…”  
  
“No! I want this,” she said quickly, sliding her hands up his smooth chest.

She leaned down to kiss him again before he could say anything else. One of his hands slipped down between her legs, rubbing her through the thin fabric of her panties. She pushed against him and threw her head back, feeling the pressure building within her. He leaned down to take her nipple in his mouth, and the swirl of his tongue and scrape of his teeth sent jolts of pleasure lancing through her.

“Ohh,” she moaned under his minstrations. “Oh god, Din, yes—”

This time he froze too. She pulled back quickly, clapping both hands over her mouth, which only partly muffled the blue streak she was swearing.

Karl stared at her, his face unreadable. “Who is Din?” he asked quietly.

“I’m so sorry, it was a stupid slip…” She was babbling, but she couldn’t stop herself. Nothing like this had ever happened before, so how the hell could it have happened now? What was kriffing wrong with her?

“Who is Din?” he repeated, more forcefully this time.

“No one, really, I promise…”

Something in his face softened then, as if he’d suddenly figured it all out and understood. “He’s the Mandalorian, isn’t he?”

Cara blinked at him, slowly dropping her hands from her mouth. She wanted to deny it, but the lie caught in her throat. “How did you know?”  
  
“C’mon, Cara, you asked me to wear a cannister on my head last night,” he said, laughing. “And I saw the way you looked at him in the cantina. I wanted to pretend like I didn’t, but I did.”

“We’re not… involved, I swear. I haven’t even seen him in months.”

He sighed, a sound of resignation. “I believe you. But I don’t believe that your heart doesn’t belong to another.”

“I don’t— I mean I’m not—” She huffed, trying to force herself to say the words. “I’m not in love with him. I don’t know why I said his name, I mean I’ve barely ever used it. It was just a stupid slip and it won’t happen again.”

One corner of his mouth drew back and he reached up, gently pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. He looked… sad. “No, it won’t.”

“Wait, are you…? Are you kicking me out of your bed?!”

“Much as it pains me, yes. Look, you’re smoking hot, and I’m sure we’d have a great time. But… I can’t be a part of something you’re going to hate yourself for in the morning.”

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open. “I’m not…”

Her objection trailed off under the weight of his gaze. Oh hell, he was right. Just the thought of seeing Din tomorrow morning after spending the night with another man made her nauseous. It didn’t make any sense. Yes, she’d found the quiet man hidden under armor strangely alluring, so much so that she’d thought it wiser to stay on Nevarro rather than accept his implicit invitation to come with them. But in the months since he’d left she’d moved on, forgotten about the shiny Mandalorian and his strangely cute foundling. Or she thought she had.

She sighed and slid off his lap, smoothing her skirt down again. As if to underscore what a gentleman he was, Karl stood and helped her pull the straps of her dress back up into place. It only made her feel worse about the whole thing.

“I have to… figure out some things,” she said quietly as he moved around to stand in front of her again. “But if you’re wrong, and if there’s nothing between me and the—,” she swallowed hard, “the Mandalorian, can I see you again?”

He smiled glumly at her and leaned in to place a soft kiss on her cheek. “I appreciate your optimism, but I highly doubt that. On the off chance that it turns out to be the case, sure.”

“You’re too good to be real, you know that?”

“My exes would disagree with you, I’m sure,” he chuckled.

He grabbed his discarded shirt and shrugged it on as they walked to his door, leaving it unbuttoned. They paused at the threshold, turning to look at each other. Just like that morning, she was left wondering how she had managed to fuck this up so spectacularly. Karl was smiling softly at her, and his tousled hair and smooth, muscled chest peeking through the shirt were almost enough to make her argue to stay the night anyway. It would be a futile gesture, though. She marveled at how ok he seemed with all of it, but when she looked closer, she could see that the smile that he wore didn’t quite mask all of the pain.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“It’s fine,” he answered, even though she knew it wasn’t wholly true. “Can I walk you home?”

She shook her head slightly. “That’s ok. You’ve done more than enough for me.” Stretching up on her toes, she kissed him gently on the cheek. “Thanks for the lovely night. I wish it could have ended differently.”

“Me, too.”

* * *

In truth, she wasn’t going home. She couldn’t face the empty, dark house, or the silence within. Being alone with her thoughts just seemed like too much right now. She didn’t even want to go back to change, much as she was ready to get out of this dress. She needed a drink, or several, as soon as possible.

The cantina was nearly empty at this time of night. A few regulars sat in their usual places, nursing their usual drinks. In one dim corner a couple sat jammed into the same side of a small booth, giggling softly as they stole kisses from each other. Cara suppressed a gag.

She walked up to the bar and slid into a stool a ways down from a man who sat hunched over his drink. The bartender was leaning behind the bar, polishing glasses and returning them to their homes. With a shake of his rag, he threw it over his shoulder and wandered over to her.

“The usual?”

“Leave the bottle,” she replied with a grimace.

The bartender gave her a look, but pulled a bottle of her favorite whiskey off the wall and set it on the bar in front of her with a glass. She poured herself a healthy amount and sipped it gingerly. The liquor seared its way down her throat, but it failed to bring the clarity she’d hoped for.

“Date not go so well?” Greef asked as he leaned one elbow against the bar next to her.

“Date went great,” she replied morosely.

“And yet here you are.”  
  
Cara sighed and took another drink. “Here I am.”

“I take it you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not really."

Greef pushed off the bar and turned away to head back across the cantina, but she stuck out a hand to grab his arm. He stopped and looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

“Didn’t say I didn’t want company,” she mumbled.

He frowned at her in confusion, but slid onto the barstool next to her anyway. They sat in silence while she tried to figure out what to say. She did want to talk about it, actually, but she didn’t know how to not sound insane. Probably impossible.

“What do you know about love, Greef?”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him look at him her suspiciously. “I had a wife, years ago. Beautiful, smart, kind. I still don’t know what she saw in me.”

“What happened?” Cara asked curiously.

“She got sick. Terminal. Seemed to come out of nowhere, just one day she was happy and healthy, and the next she was really ill.”

He flagged down the bartender and got himself a glass, then helped himself to Cara’s bottle. His face was set, but she could see the pain etching lines into his skin.

“I’m sorry,” she replied quietly.

Greef sniffed once and threw back the pour of whiskey. “Like I said, it was years ago. But thanks. Anyway, what I know about love is that when you know, you know. Usually you can’t understand it, and you sure as hell can’t control it.”

Cara stared into her drink, saying nothing. She supposed all that tracked, from what she’d experienced in the last day or so.

“You said your date went well, but you’re sitting here drowning your feelings,” he observed. He poured himself another finger of whiskey, and her as well. “Something tells me this isn’t really about the rather handsome young man who picked you up this evening.”

“He is really pretty, isn’t he?” she replied wistfully. “Really he’s just too good a person for the likes of me. Also he said my heart belonged to another.”

Greef gazed at her curiously. “Does it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Huh,” he replied, frowing in consternation. “Did he say who this person might be?”

So at least her apparent infatuation wasn’t obvious to _everyone_. Cara turned to look at Greef, but movement behind him caught her eye. “Mando! What are you doing here?”

She jumped up from her stool as he wove his way through the tables to the bar. Belatedly she realized she was still wearing the dress and she smoothed her palms over it, wishing she’d taken the time to go change.

“I could ask you the same thing,” the Mandalorian replied, looking from her to Greef to the bottle of whiskey between them.

“Where’s the kid?” she asked, desperate to keep the conversation off her evening.

“He’s asleep back on the ship. I… felt like taking a walk.”

“So you walked to the cantina?” she asked, furrowing her brow at him. “I’d ask if you need a drink, but…”

“I’m fine,” he answered. “What happened to your date?”

Was she imagining things, or was there a hint of bitterness in his voice? She had to be imagining things. It was hard to hear anything past the modulator anyway.

“It… didn’t work out,” she told him.

“That’s too bad.”

Ok, this time she was _not_ imagining the unmistakable satisfaction in his tone, completely belying his words. She wondered if he was smiling under there. It kind of seemed like he was.

“He thinks she’s in love with someone else,” Greef supplied helpfully.

Cara’s eyes went wide and she tried to fight the heat rising in her cheeks. She stared at the Mandalorian and he stared back at her, that damned helmet completely unreadable.

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone guarded.

“That’s not—” she choked out, reminding herself to breathe, “—not _exactly_ what I said…”

“Ah,” Mando replied.

She could feel Greef staring at them, but she couldn’t rip her eyes away from the Mandalorian standing in front of her. After a minute Greef stood up from his stool, and she could see him throw back the rest of his drink out of the corner of her eye.

“I should go check on… something,” he announced. Turning, he bustled off back across the cantina.

Cara couldn’t believe Greef _left_ her like that. With _him_. Didn’t he know… but no, he couldn’t have known. She hadn’t actually told him why her date had gone south. Her mouth was dry and she desperately wanted to grab her whiskey, but she was seemingly locked in Mando’s gaze like it was tractor beam.

“Would you like to sit?” he asked, breaking the spell.

He gestured to a low table next to them, and not the bar where she’d been sitting before. She’d have prefered to sit side-by-side and avoid his direct stare, but there wasn’t a good way to say that. So instead she grabbed the bottle and glass off the bar and slid into the chair. The Mandalorian sat down opposite her, clasping his hands in front of him with his elbows resting lightly on the table.

Cara filled the bottom of her glass with whisky and threw it back. “So are you going to tell me why you came back?”  
  
“To the cantina…?” he asked, confusion obvious in his voice.

“To Nevarro.”

“I already did.”

She leveled her gaze at him, scrutinizing the implacable helmet before her. “No, you didn’t. You want to tell me the _real_ reason you came back?”

He sat back in his chair, his shoulders tense. At first she thought he wasn’t going to reply and that they’d be sucked into a stand off of staring again, but then he bent his head slightly, sighed, and looked up at her again.

“I came back to get some…thing,” he answered, hesitating on the final word.

“Oh yeah? Something from the covert?”

“No.”

He didn’t elaborate, so they stared at each other across the table. She crossed her arms in front of her. By now she’d consumed enough whiskey to help her put her walls back up. She had let herself be vulnerable tonight, but no more. He wanted to play games? Ok, she would play.

“So are you going to tell me what it is or are you going to make me guess?”

“The last couple of months have been tough,” he said. It sounded like a prelude to more explanation, but he hesitated again.

“Imps still after the kid?”  
  
“Yes,” he replied carefully, “but that’s not what I mean.”

“Kid’s more of a handful than you expected?” she guessed.

He shook his head. “Not really, actually. I… I’m sorry but can you not do that?” he said suddenly, waving an indistinct hand toward her.

“Wha—?” she started before she looked down at herself.

Her arms, crossed just under her chest, were pushing her breasts together and up. The poor, overtaxed dress could hardly contain them. She looked back up at him and smirked.

“Oh, are these distracting? Sorry about that. I could see if Karga has a blanket or something…?” she teased, though she did uncross her arms.

“You’re distracting enough already, and that dress is doing you every favor,” he replied with something that sounded like a sigh.

Cara grinned cheekily at him. “Would you like me to take it off?”

The Mandalorian proceeded to choke on nothing, which only made her smile wider. Got ‘im.

“Don’t think that will help,” he managed eventually. “Kriff, Cara…”

“I’m just giving you a hard time, Mando.”

She saw his throat bob beneath the rim of his helmet as he swallowed hard. “Call me Din.”

Cara felt the blood drain from her face, her smirk frozen in place. In her head she heard herself moaning that name.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied, shaking her head. “I just… well, when you told me that I was pretty sure you were going to die, so…”

She felt bad, lying to him. But what was she going to do, tell him what had really ended her night with Karl? Not a chance. She filled the bottom or her glass with whiskey again and looked down into it, trying to hide the emotions that were no doubt etched across her face. With luck he’d interpret them as a result of memories of that day and nothing more.

“Hey,” he replied sofly, reaching across the table to take one of her hands in his. “I didn’t die. If there’s bad memories associated with my name, well, we’ll have to fix that. Make some better ones.”

Cara managed to avoid choking on the liquor, but it was a near thing. She pulled her hand from his and pressed a fist to her mouth, trying not to think of his words. Of course he had no idea what he’d just implied… or did he? The way he was sitting, helmet slightly tipped, she could almost picture a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

She pointed a finger at him accusatorily. “You’re evading the question.”

“I’m not,” he protested unconvincingly.

“Look, it’s late,” she managed, still clearing her throat. She stood up and felt the world spin slightly; she’d drank too much again. “If you don’t want to tell me what you came back for, fine. But I’m going to bed.”

She moved to walk past him toward the door, but as she did he reached out and grabbed her wrist, arresting her progress. He didn’t look up at her, and she almost pulled out of his grasp before he spoke again.

“I miss you, Cara.”

Her heart seemed to skip a beat. Had she really heard that? Perhaps she had imagined it. She waited for a moment, but when he didn’t elaborate she tried to tug her arm away from him. He held surprisingly tight and stood up, which put him close enough that her chest almost touched his beskar breastplate.

“Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” he breathed.

“What’s it supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“Come with me.”

The bitter laugh burst out of her lips before she could stop it and he flinched. The feeling of remorse that she bit back wasn’t enough to dispell a surge of resentment.

“So, what? I’m the ‘ _thing_ ’ you came back for?”

His head hung. “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.”

“I don’t _know_ anything,” she shot back, tugging unsuccessfully on her wrist again. “You’re gone for months without so much as a message, and I’m supposed to drop everything to fly across the galaxy with you again? Or is it just that you have another job you need help with?”

He winced, but nodded. “I deserved that. After you stayed behind, I thought it would be… easier to cut off contact. I thought I needed to forget you, but it didn’t work. I can’t stop thinking about you, Cara."

In that moment, her heart seemed to have taken up residence in her throat. It was what she wanted to hear, right? What, subconciously at least, she’d been hoping for since she heard he was coming back? Maybe even ever since he left. These feelings were not something she could deal with, though. They were raw, and powerful, and terrifying.

“How am I supposed to respond to that?” she asked, struggling to keep the emotion out of her voice.

“How about that you feel the same way,” he replied, the hope in his tone unmistakable.

_I do_ , she thought. Her mouth opened but the words that came out were, “I don’t know.”

This time when she tugged her arm away he let it go. Something inside of her was yelling, telling her to stop this, to tell him how she felt, to let herself be happy. She turned a deaf ear to it. If you listened to voices like that, you only got hurt in the long run.

“I can’t leave,” she choked out. “I have a life here.”

“With _Karl_?” he practically spat.

She pushed her shoulders back and glared at him icily. “My love life is none of your concern.”

He recoiled as if she’d slapped him, and she immediately wanted to take it back. Words failed her, though. After a moment he turned and began walking toward the door. He had not gotten far when he whipped back around, coming close again, and when he spoke his voice was low and harsh.

“You know what’s stupid? When Greef said that you were in love with someone else, I let myself think… because I thought there was something…” his voice trailed off as he shook his head. “Stupid, right?”

He quickly turned on his heel, his cape flapping behind him as he practically sprinted out the door. She stood, frozen in place, a dull pain throbbing in her chest. It was better for everyone this way, she tried to tell herself. The voice inside stubbornly replied, _No it’s not._

After a few more minutes Greef approached slowly, looking at her like you might look at a skittish tauntaun, as if she might flee at any moment. He wasn’t wrong. Running away seemed like the smartest option at this point, now that she’d successfully torpedoed any chance she could have had at happiness. There was a familiar numb, hollow feeling growing inside of her, a defensive mechanism she’d developed long ago.

“What happened?” he asked gently.

Cara stared at the door, her voice far away. “He asked me to go with him.”

“And you said no.”

“I did,” she confirmed.

“Why?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I have a life here.”

“Forgive me for being blunt, but you’re a kriffing idiot, Cara.”

She looked at him sharply. He stood next to her, arms folded across his chest, a frown on his face. He looked… disappointed in her. Definitely not the reaction she had been expecting.

“Did you hear…?”

“Enough,” he grunted. “You’re both fools, but at least he’s trying to fix his mistakes.”

She gaped at him. “What are you saying, Greef?”

“Go after him, before it’s too late.”

“But… I work here.” It was a lame excuse, but she was down to grasping at straws.

Greef snorted at her. “I got by fine before you. Would it make you feel better if I fired you?”  
  
“You can’t fire me!” she protested indignantly. “I’m the best enforcer you’ve ever had, you said it yourself!”  
  
“Which is true. Look, I like you, Cara, and I’ll miss having you around,” he said, shaking his head at her. “But I can’t let you do this. You asked me about love. What I didn’t say before is that when you find that person who makes you feel whole, you have to hold onto them and never let go. Go after him, or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t…” she began, but she had run out of excuses, and the expression on his face brooked no arguments. “I don’t even know where he is.”

“Follow your heart,” Greef told her. “And maybe check the north landing field.”

Cara looked at him in amazement; few would guess that his gruff, curmudgingly exterior hid a big heart. She hugged him suddenly, and after a second of shock he returned her embrace, patting her on the back.

“Thank you, Greef. I’ll never be able to repay you for everything you’ve done for me.” This time when emotion thickened her voice she didn’t fight it.

“Don’t mention it. Just make sure you guys come back and visit a bit more frequently, ok?”

She pulled back, smiling at him. “Deal.”

His tip about the north landing field paid off. She saw the twin engines of the Razor Crest peeking out behind another ship, still quiet. She supposed he might be somewhere else, but it seemed unlikely. She hurried off across the remaining distance, occasionally breaking into a slight jog. Of course she had no idea what she was going to say when she got there, but one step at a time, right?

She was still a fair distance away when she got into a position where she could see the side ramp of the ship. It was down, and he was standing silhouetted in the doorway, a warm yellow light streaming out of the ship around him. She could tell if he was looking out or in, and she couldn’t take the chance that he’d close up before she got there.

Some wild impulse took over, then, and she took off at a sprint. The sandals flapped noisily as she ran, and before long the straps began giving way. She left them in the dust. As surprisingly supportive as the dress had been, it made a poor sports bra, but she pressed her arms up against her chest and ran harder.

Mercifully, he hadn’t started raising the ramp by the time she got to the bottom of it, though as she got closer she saw that he was facing into the interior of the ship. She slowed when she approached the ship, coming to a stop before she stepped on the ramp. A wave of uncertainty crashed over her. Was she really doing this?  
  
“Din,” she called up to him.

He whirled to look down at her from the top of the ramp. “Cara? What are you doing here?”  
  
As she stood there, the light from the interior of the ship illuminating her, she realized that she must be a mess. The dusty road had left her coated to the knees in dirt, and she stood before him barefoot, red-faced, and sweaty.

“Can I… can I come up?” she asked hesitantly.

He stepped to the side slightly, opening a space for her next to him. “Of course.”

Slowly, she walked up the ramp until she reached the top, never taking her eyes off him. Now that she was here, she _had_ to come up with something to say, but she wasn’t feeling particularly eloquent.

“Is everything ok?” he asked, the concern in his voice obvious.

“It is now,” she exhaled heavily.

He reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead, and she trembled involuntarily under his light touch. She’d been worried that he would still be angry with her, but his earlier fury seemed to have faded.

“Are you cold?”

The question momentarily confused her until she realized that she wasn’t wearing much, and that she’d just apparently shivered. But Nevarro was never cold, and inside she was burning up.

“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “I ran here.”

He tipped his head at her. “Why would you do that?”

“Because… because I had to see you before you left.”

“I’m not going to take off in the middle of the night, Cara,” he laughed softly. “What was so important it couldn’t wait until morning?”

She hesitated. Despite everything, she couldn’t bring herself to make any huge confessions— _like, I don’t know, that I’m apparently hopelessly in love with you_ , she thought—now that she was standing here.

“I’m sorry for how I acted at the cantina,” she said in a rush. “You’re right, there was something. Between us. I tried to forget about it too, but it didn’t work.”

“Then why didn’t you come with me? After the battle, why did you stay?” he asked, like it had been only her choice.

She fought back a rush of annoyance, but it colored her tone anyway. “Well it’s not like you actually asked me to come with you, is it?”

“I thought…” he began, but then he trailed off, seemingly unable to complete the sentence.

Cara lifted a hand and placed it gently on the front of his beskar breastplate, taking a deep, steadying breath. “Look, I think we both didn’t know what to make of… whatever this is, back then. I still don’t know if I do. But I’d like to try to figure it out. I… I want to come with you. If you’ll still have me, that is.”

He stared at her, unmoving, for long enough that she wondered if his answer wasn’t going to be ‘ _never mind_.’ Then, just when she was about to say something, he reached forward, placed his hands on her shoulders, and gently pulled her forward until her forehead met that of his helmet.

The smell of beskar and leather and something that was uniquely him filled her nostrils, sending a wave of emotion crashing down on her. She’d been about to walk away from this, or rather let this walk away from her. Suddenly that idea was more terrifying than the feelings themselves ever were.

“There’s nothing I want more,” he murmured.

She exhaled a shuddery breath she hadn’t realized she was holding while she waited for his answer. He pulled back, then, and she felt like she could practically see through the visor to his eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice betraying the uncertainty she somehow already knew was there. “What about your life here?”

“That was a bit of an overstatement,” she admitted as her lips twisted wryly. “I resisted putting down roots here. And Greef basically said he was going to fire me if I didn’t go, so…”

“He what?!”

She smiled at him and slid the hand that rested on his breastplate up to the bare skin of his neck, tracing a finger lightly along his jaw. “Long story. I’ll tell you someday.”

“It’s late,” he sighed, sounding like he regretted the statement.  
  
“Actually quite early,” she murmured in response as she glanced at the sky. It would be dawn soon.

His smile was palpable past the helmet. “Do you want me to walk you home? To get some sleep?”  
  
“What is it with dudes and walking people home?” she asked rhetorically. Before he could try to answer, she added, “No, I don’t. I can’t spend another night alone in that house. Sleep, however, does sound appealing.”

“Uh, I don’t have a second bed here yet,” he replied uncertainly.

“Who says we need a second bed?”

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the liquor, or just the bubbly feeling of being here with him, but the words were out of her mouth before she knew she’d said them. She grinned broadly at him, feeling blissfully loopy.

“I, uh, well, I thought—” he stammered, clearly thrown off guard by this suggestion.

She reached up at lay one finger on his lips. “I just mean for sleeping,” she told him. He visibly relaxed at this clarification, but she couldn’t help but add with a wink, “tonight at least.”

This time she pushed past him into the ship, leaving him stunned behind her. After a moment she heard the ramp closing and smiled to herself. His footsteps echoed softly as he followed her into the main living area of the ship. The light was dim, but she remembered her way around from their journey to Nevarro, all those months ago.

“It’s not much,” he murmured, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing the kid.

He moved to a small compartment and opened it, revealing a single-width bed inside. Cara entered and sat on the bed, watching as he moved to a cabinet and began removing his armor, piece by piece. After he finished he was left in his soft underclothes and helmet, and she was briefly jealous. Staying here meant sleeping in this dress, which wasn’t super appealing.

“Do you have an extra shirt?” she whispered abruptly. “Maybe a pair of shorts?”

He tipped his head at her but figured it out quickly enough. Pulling open a compartment, he fished out a couple of dark garments and brought them over to her. She took them gratefully and headed to the fresher to change. She peeled off the dress and pulled on the soft shirt, breathing in deeply at the faint trace of his scent on it.

When she emerged, she found he’d laid some blankets on the floor of the main compartment. She furrowed her brow at him in confusion.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he whispered.

She shook her head at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Grabbing his hand, she led him to the single bed, lay down on it, and scooted to the far edge to make room for him. He didn’t join her, though, instead standing next to the bed awkwardly.

“C’mon, lay down,” she hissed.

After a moment he triggered the door to the compartment and it slid shut, plunging them into absolute darkness. She heard him shuffle around slightly and then the edge of the mattress dipped as he sat down.

“Are you sure?” he asked. His voice was unmodulated by the helmet, and it briefly surprised her.

She reached forward in the dark until she found his hand, squeezing it gently. “Just two people sleeping in the same bed. Unless you’d rather not…” she added, suddenly aware that he might not be ready for this.

As an answer he moved, stretching out beside her on the narrow mattress. At first he lay there tense as a board, and she thought maybe this was a mistake, but slowly he relaxed. She snuggled up under his arm, using his shoulder as a pillow and pressing her body against his. The warm weight of his arm, draped over her waist, set a fire smoldering in her belly. But she was utterly exhausted, and in moments she was already drifting to sleep.

“Cara? Are you still awake?” she heard him say distantly, as if he were very far away. When she didn’t answer he lifted his free hand and pushed a lock of hair off her face, letting his finger trail along her cheek lightly. She felt his lips press lightly on the top of her head, and he mumbled something into her hair.

She was asleep before she could even think of asking him to repeat himself.

* * *

She was utterly disoriented when she awoke. It was pitch dark, and she was in a strange bed. This time, though, it was only a few moments before she remembered where she was and how she got here. The part that remained confusing was where Din was; she was sprawled across the small bed, alone.

Quiet sounds from beyond the door told her he was in the main area. She fought back a surge of panic that she’d pushed too far, that he’d been uncomfortable and couldn’t wait to get out of the bed that morning. Before her thoughts could spiral further out of control the door to the compartment slid open and he stood silhouetted by the comparative brightness of the main cabin.

He took a step inside and sat down on the side of the bed. Leaning over her, he propped himself up on one arm and looked down at where she lay in the shadows. The urge to pull him down onto her was strong, but instead she stretched languidly, twisting her body underneath him as she grinned mischeviously.

“Finally awake?” he asked. She could hear the amusement in his voice.

She yawned. “Is it late?”  
  
“Eh, reasonably,” he shrugged.

“You should have woken me.”

He shook his head and reached forward to squeeze her forearm gently. “I think you needed it.”

The events of the previous night swam into her mind, making her feel warm, embarassed, and hopeful all at the same time. She put a hand on his and slid it slowly up his arm, reveling in the feel of his bare skin.

“Come back to bed?” she heard herself say, her voice low and husky.

She kicked herself mentally; she had _just_ been worried that she was pushing too fast, and now she was suggestively asking him to join her in bed. With luck he would just read it as her usual joking innuendo, and not the very real invitation that she meant.

He chuckled softly, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he murmured.

The pang of disappointment she felt was inevitable, she supposed. Now that she had finally accepted that these feelings were real and not going away, she was impatient. How much time had they lost, being stupid? But she had to remind herself that he might not feel the same haste, and if she drove him away by being pushy she’d never forgive herself.

No doubt she would have second-guessed herself for a long time had he not added, “You know, if we wanted to get anything done today.”

She grinned broadly at him as elation surged through her. “What do we have to do?”

“Hmm, well I think you probably have some stuff to get, right?”

“Oh yeah. That’s true,” she replied. She pushed herself into a sitting position and ran a hand through her hair. “I hope you’re not expecting to get these clothes back, because I’m not putting that dress back on.”

“Maybe some other time, then,” he replied, the mischeviousness in his tone unmistakable.

She raised an eyebrow at him, but he just laughed in response. Pushing off the bed, he stood to allow her to rise. When her bare feet hit the ground she remembered that she’d destroyed her sandals in her haste to get here. What a night.

Din left the small compartment and Cara followed him out, rebraiding her hair as she shuffled into the common area. The kid sat on a small table, currently occupied with mashing some kind of baked good into his mouth. He cooed through a full mouth when he saw her, his ears twitching happily.

“Yup, she’s going to join us,” Din replied as he rubbed the kid’s head. “Even though I almost messed it up.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “I think I won that ‘honor’ handily.” She finished her braid and sat down on a chair next to the kid, who chirped at her. The overwhelming idea of how close she came to losing all of this welled up in her again. “Hey, uh, if I hadn’t come last night, would you have left today?”

Din was in the small galley, apparently preparing some fresh caf. An empty, used mug sat on the counter; he must have had his earlier. He didn’t look at her when he spoke, focusing instead on his task.

“Not likely. I think I was probably going to go bumbling back to the cantina and do something stupid to try to win you back. I mean—over. Win you _over_ ,” he added in a low mumble, barely audible. “Not that you were ever mine to begin with.”

She stood and walked over to him, and as she did he ceased fidgeting with the caf machine and turned to face her. The feeling as their eyes locked was unmistakable, even if she couldn’t see through his visor.

“Oh, Din,” she sighed, lifting a hand to curl it lightly on the side of his neck. She felt his hair brush her fingers and let a small, soft curl twist around them. A powerful desire to snake her hands through that hair surged through her, then; something for another time, perhaps in the not-too-distant future.

“I don’t think either of us ever realized it,” she said, a soft smile playing on her lips, “but I was always yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I feel bad for Karl. Serves me right for writing Tom Hiddleston into my story and expecting to be ok with my treating him so poorly. 😆 I highly doubt my ability to convincingly write a poly storyline, so a continuation does feel unlikely. 😓
> 
> Anyway, thank you all so so much for all your comments on the first part of this. They give me such warm fuzzies inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to know what you think!


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